


Crepusculus Memoria

by Silverlightning



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, Emotional Trauma, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-04 22:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverlightning/pseuds/Silverlightning
Summary: ”It defies explanation. He should be fine aside from his physical injuries. Thankfully it is not a regressional amnesia, he seems to remember that he is a wizard. Just seems like everything else is gone.” The mediwitch sighs, she sounds tired and frustrated.”Mhmm, this is mysterious indeed. I shall research this further and will try to come up with a cure for Mr. Potter. ” The Potions Master pauses.”Thanks Severus, I appreciate your assistance and I am sure Mr. Potter will be thankful for this when he remembers who he is and what you did for him.” Robes rustle and the Potions Master scoffs.”I don’t need his gratefulness, but I need him to get well and be able to live his life. I need him to be safe and happy.”Overhearing their conversation leaves me puzzled and slightly curious. Who am I and why is this person so worried about my well-being?





	1. Chapter 1

Muffled sounds reach my ear; people talking in hushed voices and it sounds like someone is crying. It smells weird, sharp like disinfectant and bitter like lavender and cardamom. I want to open my eyes, but I am so tired, bone-deep exhaustion covers my body like a heavy blanket. Even lifting an eyelid seems impossible right now. The sheets underneath me are soft, my fingertips rest comfortably on something warm. It takes me a couple of minutes to figure out that my fingers are resting in the palm of another hand, the hand is warm and dry, busy fingers press against my wrist, I imagine to check my pulse. 

”I think he is waking up,” a smooth, dark voice says right before I finally crack open my eyes. The world around me is blurry, patches of color bleeding together, red and brown, a deep black, standing out from all the other moving colors in the room. The black color is close but isn’t moving like the rest of the room. I turn my head to get some idea of where I am or who these voices belong to. When I turn my head a scent strikes me, the lavender comes from the person to my right, wearing all black, talking in a deep and rich voice. This man remains next to me as other voices join him, excited, tear- filled and happy. His fingers get busy again, wandering over my arm, tapping on my chest and resting on my cheek. 

Suddenly the world comes into focus and I can feel the familiar weight of glasses on my nose. I exhale in relief and look around me cautiously. Four people are staring at me intently; their expressions ranging from neutral, to fearful and excited. The two women in the room are crying visibly, the younger one clutching a handkerchief in her hands, eyes red and poofy. The older women is dressed in a white uniform, I recognize the style and pattern. This must be a mediwitch. But she is also crying, rubbing her eyes repeatedly. A male with red hair and a hideous jumper pets the younger women on her back awkwardly while he grins at me, showing all of his white teeth. My eyes wander to my right, to the man with the soft fingers and extraordinary scent. His expression doesn’t convey any feelings, he looks at me calmly, his features collected. Somehow I appreciate the calmness he radiates, I don’t know why these strangers are upset or why they are in my room but I am too exhausted to really care. 

”Harry, mate, I am so glad you are awake.” I look at the red-head, wondering if he is talking to the other male, however the one clad in black doesn’t react to the statement. 

They all look at me expectantly, like I am supposed to say something to that, give an answer only I possess. I try to remember my manners but in the end my mind is way to jumbled so I forego any polite smalltalk and ask bluntly. 

”Who is Harry?” 

The red-head explodes into laughter that turns into something similar to sobs when he hears the mediwitch gasp and sees the younger women cover her mouth with her hands still clutching that by now wet handkerchief. They really look miserable and I briefly wonder what has happened to them. They seem so sad, and forlorn but I am too exhausted to ask. 

The mediwitch approaches me and asks me for my permission to perform a series of tests. I jawn and nodd, my whole body feels sore, a pulsating ache deep in the core spreading through every fiber of my being. I would appreciate some healing potion. The mediwitch waves her wand over my body and hums to herself as she touches my arms, my stomach and my knees. She clearly exchanges a worried look with the older male next to me, before she sighs and puts her wand back into the pouch on her belt. 

”Poppy, what is it?” The young witch asks, her eyes wide and scared. I feel sorry for her but can’t really grasp why a stranger should be worried about me. 

”Nothing,” Poppy mumbles and starts pacing the room, ”only the injuries we already know about, no trauma to the head or problems with his magic.” The mediwitch stops the pacing and approaches the bed again. She puts a hand gingerly on my arm and I turn to look at her face. She is old, with laugh lines around her eyes and warm hands. She seems motherly and caring, I don’t know who she is but I am sure I am in good hands in her care. 

”Harry dear, I know this must be difficult because you are tired but please could you try to tell us what the last thing is that you remember?” She makes eye contact and nods reassuringly, I realize her eyes are still young and lively, despite her apparent age. 

I am exhausted but comply and close my eyes. My thoughts are chaotic, a jumbled mess. I see a green light, wands crossed in duel, I remember blinding pain followed by a white light and the feeling of peace. 

”I don’t know,” I choke out, my throat feels like sandpaper and my lips are dry and hurt as I speak. Before I can elaborate on that my head is cradled and gently lifted, slender but strong hands tilt my head to the side so that I can reach the straw poking out from a glass of water. I purse my lips and sigh in relief when the water wets my throat. Way too soon it is removed and I whine in protest. I am still so thirsty. 

”I know,” the smooth voice whispers, ”but you need to take i slow,” 

His voice sounds understanding and reassuring, even though I crave more water I nodd and rest back against the pillow as soon as the pressure of a warm hand disappears from the back of my head. 

”Harry, do you know where you are? Or who you are?” The mediwitch asks hesitantly, as if she really doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.

Slowly, I catch on and realize that the people in the room call me Harry. Harry, I whisper uncertain. I feel nothing as the name rolls over my tongue, no familiarity or recognition. I frown and try to think of my name but everything stays blank, a numbing blackness. I guess Harry is as good as any other name. 

I slowly shake my head, look at them as devastation crosses the features of the younger male and the witch. I feel bad, like not knowing the answer to a quiz in class that I should have studied for. Suddenly the witch steps forward, throwing her arms around my neck. 

I flinch, try to back away but I am not getting far confined to this bed by my own exhaustion. Her bushy hair tickles my nose and I have a hard time breathing. She cries soundly on my shoulder and I look frantically around the room. I don’t like being touched by strangers and my heart beats painfully. 

”Mione!” The red head exclaims and puts a hand on the witches shaking shoulders. The mediwitch rubs her eyes again. I turn my head and look pleadingly at the older man trying to convey that this makes me uncomfortable. 

”Enough,” he barks sharply and everyone in the room seems to cower a bit at the unforgiving tone. His voice sounds like he is used to giving orders and have people follow them without hesitation. The young witch lets go of me and backs away shamefully, cheeks red from tears and possibly embarrassment.

”Mr. Potter needs to rest, I have a healing potion as well as salve that needs appliance before he can go back to sleep. Give us some privacy,” he demands sternly, ”please,” he adds almost as an afterthought. 

The redhead puts his arm around the witch who hides her face in is knitted jumper. He gently leads her out of the room, he waves at me and I nodd in response, it doesn’t cost anything to be nice after all even though I have not the faintest idea who these people are. Their reactions tell me I probably should and I feel bad for disappointing them.

”Mr. Potter,” a warm hand rests again on the bare skin of my arm, ”the injuries on your chest and thighs needs to get taken care of. Would you be comfortable with the mediwitch doing it or do you prefer that I change the dressings and apply the healing salve?” His tone is calm, the sharpness is gone and he doesn’t shy away from the eye contact as our eyes connect. 

The mediwitch looks still distraught so I shake my head slowly. I feel exhausted and don’t know if I can handle her sniffing and crying while she takes care of my injuries. I feel hollow and guilty for apparently not knowing who I am and upsetting these people. 

“Please,” I cough and try to regain my breath before continuing, “can you stay?” My cheeks heat up in embarrassment because I sound so helpless and afraid. I have no idea where I am and why I can’t remember my own name or what happened to me that made me end up in a hospital bed. The only thing I know is that my chest hurts, the pain rises and falls like ocean waves. I am too exhausted to keep my eyes open and my head feels like it's wrapped in wool. My thoughts pass through my mind slowly, tangling and untangling in unfamiliar patterns. I have no energy to sort through them so I let them pass like birds on their way to the south. I am about to drift off when soft fingertips once again pull me back from the dark embrace of sleep. 

“Harry, my name is Severus Snape and I am the Potions Master here at Hogwarts, school for wizards and witches. You are in the medical wing and I will try to ease your pain. In order to do that I need to remove some of your clothes, would that be alright with you?” My eyes sting with unshed tears. This is the first person who has introduced himself to me and I am grateful for that. I feel less alone and frightened in this unfamiliar world. I nod in response and my clothes vanish, leaving me shivering under the thin blanket. 

It doesn’t take long until the blanket is removed as well, revealing a huge gash tearing the skin on my chest apart. I can tell that this wound is not fresh, it is partially closed but still infected, the skin around the edges an angry red. I hiss involuntarily as the Potions Master spreads a cool salve over the infected areas. It smells like mint and rosemary, I inhale deeply. The coolness lessens the pain somewhat, even though it is still present. The touch of his fingers is uncomfortable, painful even, but I can tell that he tries to be cautious. I wonder briefly what my relationship to this collected man is that clearly cares enough to approach my wounds with gentleness. I press my eyes shut as he puts his slender fingers on my thigh. Its is a strange feeling and goosebumps erupt all over my body. Somehow I get the feeling I am not used to being touched and I try to take only shallow breaths, my head tilted away from him towards the ceiling. It doesn’t take long until my clothes reappear on my body and feeling of being exposed and vulnerable disappears for a moment. 

The Potions Master performs a cleaning spell on his hands and puts his wand back into his robes. I look at him closely, his robes are unusual even for a traditional wizard. They are black as the night sky, tailored fitting on his chest and hips to broaden towards his feet. Whenever he moves they rustle slightly, and the black sleeves resting on his hands draw my attention to pale skin and long fingers. Strands of black hair frame his face as he moves through the room, putting vials containing a purple fluid on my nightstand and straightens the sheets he wrinkled by sitting next to me while he applied the salve. His movements are efficient and yet graceful, he is a tall man. I occupy my brain with guessing his age, the hair and pale skin doesn’t make this an easy task. He is definitely older than the witch and wizard with the ugly clothes but how much older is up for anyone's guess.

He frowns as he reads something on the chart that the mediwitch jotted down after the test she performed. Watching his movements reminds me that I am really tired and I close my eyes once again. I can tell that he is still wandering through the room, robes rustling and the scent of lavender that comes closer and fades away whenever he moves. I convince myself that things won’t be so scary as soon as I get some rest, I might just wake up and remember who I am.

When I wake up again the burning pain has been replaced by a dull ache, a throbbing in beat with my own heart. I can tell that it is nighttime, the medical wing is deserted, the only lightsource is coming from the hallway. Flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows on the walls and the castle around me groans and whimpers. Hogwarts, I say to myself, concentrating on the feeling of the room I am lying in. Have I been here before? My musings get answered by a picture popping up in my mind, a huge castle and a dark lake, illuminated by candles. Welcoming, Secure, Home. 

I smile involuntarily, despite the confusion inside of me. 

I have no rational explanation and no real memory but I just know that this is a good place, it feels like home, comfortable and familiar even though I can’t seem to remember anything about the people I have already met or the events prior to my injury. For a moment I concentrate and focus all my energy on the blankness in my mind, willing it to reveal something about myself. I let out a slow breath as I realize that my efforts are in vain and my mind non responding to my probing questions. 

I turn around and face the door, looking at the light that spills into the room. I am thankful for that source of light and look down the corridor. My glasses rest again on the nightstand to my left, leaving me with a blurry vision. I can identify shapes in the room, several beds and what seems to be a cabinet of sorts. The nightstand with my glasses, a vase with flowers and a journal or book. I am just about to close my eyes again to go back to sleep as I hear silent steps approaching the room. The steps are soon joined by a second pair and they pause right before the doorway. I press my eyes shut, trying to avoid meeting anyone I should know but don’t. I still feel exhausted from this afternoon and all the emotions thrown at me. 

The two persons talk in hushed voices, I strain my ears but can’t identify any words until the people start walking again and their voices drift closer. 

”.....no medical or magical explanation for his memory loss,” a female voice says and I recognize her as the mediwitch with the kind eyes. 

”I know, I checked the tests you performed and performed some additional tests by myself. Just to be sure. No offence,” a dark voice replies. Even that voice I have heard before, it's the Potions Master who tended to my wounds. 

”None taken,” the mediwitch reassures before continuing, ”It defies explanation. He should be fine aside from his physical injuries. Thankfully it is not a regressional amnesia, he seems to remember that he is a wizard. Just seems like everything else is gone.” The mediwitch sighs, she sounds tired and frustrated. 

”Mhmm, this is mysterious indeed. I shall research this further and will try to come up with a cure for Mr. Potter. Until then I read some Muggle literature and found some advice on how to deal with amnesia generally.” The Potions Master pauses. 

I snicker, the older male said ”muggle literature” like one would say ”brussel sprouts”; a mixture of disgust and morbid curiosity. 

”Thanks Severus, I appreciate your assistance and I am sure Mr. Potter will be thankful for this when he remembers who he is and what you did for him.” Robes rustle and the Potions Master scoffs. 

”I don’t need his gratefulness, but I need him to get well and be able to live his life. I need him to be safe and happy.” 

I wonder why the Potions Master is so worried about my well-being. As the voices fade away again, I feel oddly comforted by the fact that there is one person who clearly wants to help med. Overhearing their conversation leaves me puzzled and slightly curious. I don’t remember anything about him but I feel somehow safe around him. Protected, taken care off, longing. 

I can’t place the feelings that well up inside of me but decide to ignore them. It's not like they are real memories and in any way helpful. I still have no idea who I am and it starts to bother me that everyone around me knows more about me than I do.


	2. Chapter 2

There is something oddly comforting about someone taking care of your wounds. It chases the feeling of loneliness away.

The new day has unfortunately not brought any memories to the surface, only more perplexity as I met another person during the morning. This huge guy Hagrid came charging in with such force I did almost hide underneath my blankets. Luckily, I regained some composure and avoided the embarrassment of looking like a fool. He is nice guy, boisterous but kind. Apparently, we have been friends since I was a baby, or so he said. As we talked I remembered nothing.No recognition or memory.

The only thing I felt was a slight annoyance at the fact that I would not be able to distinguish truth from lie. It makes me feel vulnerable and unprotected. I have a huge infected gash tearing my chest apart, which is currently rinsed by the Potions Master and no idea who to trust.

I guess I could ask him what happened to me. But I don’t, because he looks so concentrated; nose wrinkled, brows knitted together in a frown and dark eyes focused on my chest. His fingers are nimble, they move fast while once again applying the same salve like yesterday. I draw in a sharp breath when his fingers press against the infected parts of my wound. He stills his movements immediately and turns his head to look at me. I try to breathe through the pain and our eyes connect. I look at him to steady myself and he waits until I nod lightly before he continues his administrations. I worry my bottom lip and try not to jerk away as he redresses my wounds with clean, white bandages. When he is finished he places his hand tentatively on my chest, above my wound. The touch feels reassuring and I slowly release the breath I am holding. 

“Thank you, Mr. Snape. For doing this I mean, you are no mediwizard and I am sure you have more important things to do,” my cheeks heat under the scrutinizing look he casts over his shoulder while he wanders away and waves his wand to put the supplies he used back into the cabinet. 

”Professor Snape,” he corrects me. His features are collected but his gaze is intense, I am almost sure that there is a mischievous gleam to those black eyes. 

I blush an even deeper shade of red and lower my eyes, focusing on my hands. 

The cabinet doors slide open and close again, after everything has placed itself neatly on a shelf. He doesn’t move his lips and performs his magic with natural ease. 

After a while I continue observing him with interest. A thought pops up in my mind while my eyes follow his movements through the room; where is my wand? I hadn’t realized that it wasn’t near me and I can’t picture what it looks like but I just know that it should be here. 

“Mr.Potter you look like you are brooding over something. What is it?” He cleans his hands again and walks over to stand by my bedside. He crosses his arms, slender fingers resting on black sleeves, while he looks at me questioningly, one eyebrow raised. Somehow I get the feeling he wears this look often and I can’t help but smile at him, despite the pain in my chest and my confusion about the absence of my wand. 

“Where is my wand?” I blurt, which causes his eyebrow to travel an inch higher. 

The Professor hums and puts his fingertips together in a thoughtful gesture. 

“Do your remember anything about your wand? What kind of wand is it, what does it look like?” He fires questions at me and looks curious while doing so. 

I lower my gaze and fold the hem of my blanket, trying to suppress the nervous itch that is about to take over my body. Truth is that I don’t know. Not what it looks like or what kind of wand it is. But I remember the feeling of holding it, smooth wood on the palms of my hand. The magic pulsating from it, kind and protective. 

“I….I don’t know,” I shake my head and turn away. Yet another thing that I can’t remember. I close my eyes, tired from the pain and all the questions I don’t have an answer to. 

It is quiet for a long while and I listen to the older males soft breathing. He isn’t moving and I wonder if he is looking at me. After a while he comes closer, this time he carries the scent of peppermint with him. His presence calms me even though he isn’t saying anything. Curiosity gets the better of me, I turn my head and open my eyes again. His hand rests on my pillow, so close he could touch my cheek with his fingertips. 

“Don’t be discouraged. We will find a way to help you locate your memories. It will probably take some time, but all hope is not lost,” his tone is serious but calm. 

“Locate them?Yeah right, sure. Lets perform a locating spell. Brilliant, just brilliant” I scoff and roll my eyes. It's not like I misplaced my glasses somewhere. My mind is surely far more complicated than that. 

While I am busy rolling my eyes I see his face loose the soft expression and change into something hard and distant. His face looks all of a sudden like a stone wall, unforgiving and cold. I swallow and feel stupid for my childish reaction to his attempt to give me some hope. I don’t like the way his eyes have turned into black marbles, not conveying any emotion. 

“Mr. Potter, I do not appreciate when people make fun of me. I wouldn’t have used the word locate, unless I meant it. I have developed a theory regarding your loss of memory but I am not keen on sharing it with you yet. I have no time for childishness Mr. Potter, being ill is not a free pass for immaturity.” He turns around abruptly and leaves the room in big strides. 

The first time since I woke up surrounded by unfamiliar people I feel like crying. I feel like an complete idiot, why did I be so rude to the man who has shown nothing but kindness towards me? He even demanded that Hagrid’s visit was to be kept short and he escorted the man out of the medical wing when he didn’t show any signs of wanting to leave any time soon. I am sure I do not need that much rest but I guess he knows that meeting all these strangers is overwhelming and terrifying for me. 

By his reaction I can tell he is a proud man, one that sets high standards for himself and others, a perfectionist who doesn’t forgive easy but loyal until death. Of course, I can’t remember this man but the feeling in the pit of my stomach convinces me that I am right with my assessment. The urge to ask for forgiveness takes over me and I decide that I need to find him. I feel nauseous and at the brink of tears. I tell myself that I am overreacting, but before I can stop myself I have already put my feet into the pair of slippers, neatly placed next to the nightstand. It is kind of chilly, now that I have left the bed and I grab a bathrobe in gold and red that is folded on a chair next to the nightstand. 

My legs wobble as I take first, tentative steps and I am afraid they won’t hold my weight. Luckily, the feeling fades away with every small step towards the hallway. I leave the medical wing through the door and pause before stepping out into the hallway. Its quiet, eerily so. My breath is the loudest sound right now. My hands shake and I start walking, with no clear idea of where to look for a man I know nothing about, in a castle that I can’t orient myself in. 

I turn left on random and find myself in a long hallway. I frown at the sight greeting me, the stone wall covered in ornaments is torn down on many places, the bricks laying abandoned on the floor. Dust covers the once colorful tiles on the floor. It's a mosaic of some kind, but the light in the hallways is too irregular to make out a pattern, only every fourth lantern is lit. There is a chilly draft coming from somewhere on my right. I swallow and take another step, even though this hallway doesn’t seem welcoming at all. At the end of it I stop with my back to a stone pillar. There is a staircase, but the wood is torn in so many places that I don’t dare to step onto it. I look around, let my eyes glide over several more stone pillars, one of which only partially stands. There is a black trail covering the floor ahead of me, almost if there had been a fire, leaving a burning mark on the floor. It almost looks like a skull but I shake my head at that ridiculous notion.

Before my minds eye I see flashes of green light and I press my eyes shut to chase the picture away. Suddenly I feel afraid, I can tell that this castle is build to be occupied by many people; the emptiness bleeds like a wound. I shiver and put my arms around me, but it only gets colder as I walk towards a staircase on the other end of the landing; this one seems to be made of stone. I don’t want to take any chances with the wooden staircase, slightly swaying in the breeze. For a moment I wonder where the breeze is coming from because I can’t see a window in close proximity. 

I ascend the stone steps, they are made of grey stone but the stone gets darker level by level. The lanterns are replaced by torches, it smells like fire and ashes around here. When I reach the bottom I identify another smell, its spicy but I can’t pinpoint it. The shivering that has taken over my body has gotten worse and my teeth shatter as I shuffle along the dark hallway. The torches don’t light much of the way ahead and I have no idea where I am or why I keep going. At the end of the hallway there is a door and I pause, hoping I find someone, anyone, alive besides me around here. 

I want to knock but a sudden dizzy spell blackens my vision. I lean forward to rest my hands and forehead against the door, taking deep breaths. My knees feel weak and wobbly and I try to knock to make myself known. The door looks like black stone but as I press my hands against it I realize that it is not. It is warmer than anticipated, it feels sleek against my heated cheeks. A buzzing energy seems to emit from it and I close my eyes for just a minute. The energy coming from the door hugs my frame, travels down my spine. It is not uncomfortable, feels like curious fingertips wandering over bare skin. The magic seems foreign but yet at its core there is something familiar. It feels like staring into the night sky, first all you see is blackness but slowly you are able to see shades to the blackness and stars glinting in the velvety sky. It reminds me of someone. Safe, protected, warm.

The door is wrenched open before I can follow that train of thought and I stumble forwards, colliding with the warm body blocking the entrance. I am still shaking, my teeth shatter and I am scared until my nose lands on warm cotton, smelling of peppermint. It seems like I have found the person I was looking for. 

”What the hell are you doing here, Potter?” The Potions Master asks icily, his arms crossed behind his back, ignoring the fact that I am almost hugging him while I try to regain my footing. 

”Sorry, I….I just….I wanted to….I tried to…..,” I stutter, trying to get my brain to cooperate with my mouth. Neither is willing right now so I sound like a complete fool. Great. I take a deep breath and meet his eyes, unreadable blackness. 

”I wanted to apologize,” I try to not shatter my teeth, this hallway is chilly, dark and unwelcoming. I try to shake the feeling that I shouldn’t be here and wring my hands in an effort to reign in my desire to turn around and flee back to my bed. 

He doesn’t answer and I swallow, this is harder than I thought. I don’t know the first thing about this man and yet I can’t stand the thought that my childish words caused him harm.

”I am sorry,” I continue, lowering my voice. 

”I’ll try to not to be immature again. I don’t promise I will succeed because...well maybe I am childish? Seems like right now you do know a whole lot more about me than I do.” I smile at him cautiously and his features change. 

Its subtle, almost undetectable but his face loses the stone-like resemblance, his mouth softens around the edges and there is an emotion deep in his eyes. 

”It is freezing out here, come inside before you get a cold,” he says and steps aside. 

I nod and sigh in relief when he closes the door behind me. Warmth envelops me at once and I look around curiously. I seem to be standing in a living room, dominated by a giant, plush looking sofa. The fabric is dark green and matches a flag of some sort that is hanging above the fireplace. I briefly wonder what it symbolizes but don’t dare to ask in case it is a stupid question. 

The Potions Master beckons me closer and points towards a pair of armchairs next to several, overstuffed bookcases. 

”How did you remember the way down here?” The professor asks before sitting down on one of the chairs. Somehow I expected him to sit stiffly on the edge of the chair but he doesn’t, instead he slumps all the way back, resting his head against the backrest. It looks comfortable and relaxed. 

”I didn’t; I just wandered through the castle, in hopes of finding you or someone else who can point me in the right direction,” I answer honestly, there is no point in pretending I do remember anything. 

”You could have wandered a long time without meeting anyone. Besides me and Poppy there is no one here. Your friends are staying at the Burrow for the time being.”  
He turns his head and looks at me intently. 

”Oh,” I say, not really sure who he is referring to or what the Burrow is. I know what a burrow is of course, but I am guessing the image that pops into my head is not what he is talking about. Or it is and I have really strange friends. 

Silence settles between us until I realize that now would be a good time to ask some questions. 

I swallow nervously, not really knowing where to begin. I decide to just go with the questions popping up in my mind in no particular order. It's not like I am going to run out of questions to ask. 

”Why is the castle destroyed? I saw damage all over the place,” I ask and lean back in my chair. 

He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. At first it seems like he is reluctant to answer but then he opens his eyes again and pushes a wayward strand of his hair back that keeps falling into his face. 

”There was a war. Big parts of Hogwarts were destroyed, many were killed and injured,” sadness seeps into his voice and all of a sudden he looks tired. 

I have so many follow up questions but the pain in his eyes lets me swallow most of them. 

”Was I injured in the battle here?” I am curious how I ended up with that huge wound. 

”Yes and no. You were injured in this war but not on Hogwarts grounds. It's complicated,” his voice is merely above a whisper and he pinches his nose. 

He looks like a man who has lost far too many people in one lifetime.

”How long have I been in a coma?” This question has burned on my mind since I saw my wound, clearly not fresh. 

”Five weeks, give or take. I probably should start reparations of the castle. Part of the roof is collapsed, it's really not safe to randomly wander around,” he looks sternly at me but I can tell that he is not angry anymore. 

”That's why it is so cold,” I mumble to myself. 

”Yes, this place is really not hospitable right now. But the medical wing has not been destroyed in battle so we decided to keep you there until you woke up and your wounds have healed. Your friends are already eager to get you out of here so that they can take care of you properly.” He looks like he just ate a lemon while saying this. 

My heart speeds up and adrenaline spikes, crashing through my system in violent waves. I try to breathe steadily but I can’t seem to get enough oxygen into my lungs. My hands are sweaty and I press them into the plush fabric of my robe. Does he mean I have to go with these strangers? I don’t want to leave here and stay with people I don’t know. People who didn’t even introduce themselves. I get that they are my friends but I don’t know them. Swear gathers at the small of my back and I try to swallow around the lump in my throat. 

The Professor has turned towards me and frowns. 

”Mr. Potter, what is it?” He asks and leans forward to look at my face. 

I shake my head and try to say something but fail. What if I am not allowed to stay here? He is the only who feels familiar, the only one I trust right now. 

”Harry,” he whispers and covers my hand with his, ”just breathe, in and out.”

Yeah right, sounds easy. 

He looks genuinely concerned, which calms my nerves somewhat. Maybe I can ask him to stay? 

I grab his hand and hold it tightly, desperately. His eyes widen but he doesn’t retract his hand. Instead he squeezes mine. 

It takes a couple of minutes until I can talk again. My throat feels like sandpaper.

”Please, don’t send me away. I don’t know these people, I don't want to stay with strangers. Please.” 

”I am so sorry, Harry, I didn’t think before speaking. I didn’t mean to scare you but they are your friends and love you. They only have your best interest at heart.” 

He tries to retract his hand but I am not ready and keep holding on. His hands are dry, soft and warm. 

”I don’t know them and I don’t trust strangers.” I try to sound firm. 

”Harry, I know this is difficult because right now you don’t remember anyone. I imagine it must feel scary without anyone to trust.” His features are soft and his eyes compassionate. 

Tears sting behind my eyes but I won’t let them fall. 

”I trust you,” I whisper. I can’t decipher the emotions crossing his features. The only thing I know is that his eyes change color slightly, become brighter for a moment, like a light has been turned on behind them. He doesn’t say anything but he still holds my hand. 

”You can stay as long as you want,” he says finally after a long moment of silence, his voice sounds hoarse, thick with emotion.


	3. Chapter 3

”Thank you,” I whisper, grateful that he has stopped trying to retract his hand. I don’t know why but I feel the urge to hold on like my life depends on him. It is a strange feeling but the odd thing is that it feels familiar. It’s not the first time I am feeling like this, I am sure of it. 

There is some sort of energy where our skin meets, almost like the energy I felt when I touched the door. I realize that this must be his magic. He must be a powerful wizard if he radiates it that much. It is unusual to feel someone else's magic signature without the person having performed a complicated spell. 

I am curious and let my fingertips hover above the energy field he is emitting. When I touch it he draws a breath and stands abruptly, breaking the connection. Before our hands separate something sparks inside of me, before my mind's eye I see thick darkness that slowly reveals a scene. A person is lying on the ground motionless at an odd angle, it looks almost like a ragdoll thrown away without a care. It's too dark to see the persons face. I feel blinding rage, deafening sadness, and screaming desperation. The emotions feel foreign and the memory distant. It is definitely not my own. 

The Professor breaths raggedly and his lips are pressed into a thin line; he looks at me with a serious expression. 

”Why did you do that?” He asks bewildered, but there is no anger in his voice. Only surprise. 

”I just touched your magic. I was curious, I am sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” 

”You. Touched. My. Magic.” He repeats, sounding like I just said there is a purple elephant in the room. Every word sounds like a sentence on its own. 

I hunch and bite my lips. It is the first time since I met him that he looks at me like there is something seriously wrong with me. I do not like that look on his face. Great, maybe I have not only lost my memory but my mind as well. 

”Have you been able to see someone else's magic?” He asks and crouches down before me, soft eyes residing on my face. 

He is pitying me, I can clearly feel it. Loony Potter, who lost it completely. It hurts somewhere deep within, like a knife being twisted in my guts. That must be some kind of sad record. I managed to convince the only person I trust in this world that I am a nutcase. I have no idea if I have been like this in the past but I sure wish I would just have kept minding my own business and my curious fingers away from him. 

”No, just yours. I felt the same thing at the door, some kind of buzzing energy. It reminded me of you so I thought that it must be your magic but maybe I am wrong. Just forget this, I am sure I am just imagining things.” I stand from my chair, it's time to go back. For a moment I regret coming here because he is still looking at me with an expression I cannot read. I am not sure I want to know what he is thinking right now anyway. 

I walk towards the door slowly. I am tired and just want to bury myself underneath my blankets. 

”Harry, wait. I’ll escort you back.” He is on his feet and by my side surprisingly fast. 

”Thanks, but I’ll manage by myself, it's not like I have completely lost it,” I mumble and put my hand on the door handle. I once again feel the magic wrap around my hand but ignore it. Who knows if its even there. Judging by the look on his face only seconds ago there is a big chance I am imagining things. 

A hand on my elbow stops me in my tracks. It is a firm grip but not bruising. 

”I just want to make sure the collapsing roof doesn’t kill you on your way back,” he says and I turn around to look at him. 

He doesn’t look like someone who is prepared to cave in, his eyes glance at me firmly, his posture rigid and back straight. There is no way I am going to convince him to let me walk back alone. So I don’t say anything but open the door and step into the hallway. 

The torches hanging on the dark stone walls flicker as we pass by. This is the first time since I woke up that the silence between us feels uncomfortable. I wonder if he is thinking that I am completely nuts. I shouldn’t be so bothered by this, he is, after all, a stranger just like the others. But he is also the only person I feel safe with, despite the lack of memory. I hug myself in a futile attempt to fight off the cold. As we climb the stairs the desolation of this place begins to weigh heavily on me. The thought of being surrounded by this empty castle makes me shudder. 

We are back in the hallway leading to the medical wing when a weird sound reaches us. At first, it is faint, a low cracking and groaning. With every step the sound intensifies, the castle seems almost to vibrate. I look around and spot the origin of the noise: a crack slowly spreading from the doorway of the medical wing throughout the ceiling all the way towards the back of the room. It is unsettling, to say the least, seeing the ceiling crack open. The noise stops for a moment before the first brick lands on the floor with a deafening crash. 

Strong, protective arms pull me close to a warm body. His breath ghosts over my neck and his hands cover my chest protectively. While we watch the ceiling collapse I notice the lean body he hides under billowing robes and the strength of his arms. The castle groans, almost as if it can feel the pain of the destruction. There is chaos all around us; the ceiling crashing into the tiles on the floor, dust filling the air making it harder to breathe. Despite the commotion, a sense of calmness has settled over me. 

I feel his heart beating, fast and irregular but his body is absolutely still. I imagine it must be horrifying to see your home crumbling to dust. We stand a secure distance away, mere spectators to the destruction going on around us. I hesitate, before taking the courage to cover his hand with mine. I have no real memory of this place and the destruction is still devastating to watch. His pain must be so much more intense. His grip around me tightens, creating a lump in my throat. 

It feels like we have been standing here forever, I have lost all sense of time. The cold numbs my fingers and I can hardly feel my feet anymore. My cheeks burn with the cold wind now sweeping through additional holes in the castle wall. 

“I guess I will not be staying in the medical wing,” I say jokingly, to ease the tension that is building in the silence. He doesn’t reply and his body starts shaking. 

Is he crying? My heart breaks at the thought but I am reluctant to turn around in case it would embarrass him. Just as I gather the courage to comfort him, a burst of deep and smooth laughter erupts from him. Startled, I turn around and watch the Professor shaking with laughter. It transforms his whole being, his eyes are bright and small wrinkles spread from them. He casts his hair back, black wild strands framing his face. His cheeks flush with pink spots on his high cheekbones, his white teeth on display. The thing that gets me the most is his voice, it sounds so different from the neutral and calm tone he has been using when he addresses me. There is so much emotion in it. I can hear the layers of desperation, sadness and but also something else. I don’t know why but this touches me somewhere deep in my heart. I almost forget that it is cold and the castle we are staying in is falling apart, I just want him to keep laughing. 

As soon as he stops I realize that the damaged medical wing might sentence me to be sent to live with the witch and wizard I met yesterday at a place called The Burrow. My heart sinks and I swallow hard. No matter what, this castle is not safe any longer. I could have been in that room asleep if my guilty conscience wouldn’t have driven me to seek out the Professor. 

The Professor shakes his head and a small smile tugs at his lips before his features take on a more serious expression as his gaze follows mine and lands on the bed where only an hour ago I have been resting. The thought is sobering.

“This castle is not safe anymore. We can’t stay here. You could have been on that bed,” He sounds strangled and points at the broken bed covered in stones. 

I nod because he is right, this place is dangerous. Whatever Hogwarts might have been in the past it is gone. The castle feels like it has lost its soul, there is something fundamentally wrong with it in addition to the obvious damage to the building. Maybe there will be a chance to rebuild it but right now we need to leave. 

“Luckily, all your belongings are stored in your trunk in my chambers. I need to pack the most essential things, after that we need to leave this place.” He frowns and hunches his shoulders somewhat. He doesn’t wait for an answer but walks briskly back to his chambers, I try to follow his long strides without actually having to run. 

As soon as we are back in his chambers fervent energy seems to take over, he takes out his wand and has stuff flying around the room in no apparent order. Clothes from the wardrobe empty themselves into a waiting trunk, journals and books pile themselves on top of the clothes, followed by small keepsakes and toiletry articles. I stand by the door, a bit stunned by the activity around me, awaiting the moment when he sends me to those emotional strangers. I am sure they are nice but I feel no familiarity when I am with them and their open display of emotions makes me feel uncomfortable. I guess I just feel guilty for making these people sad even though I can’t help it. I WANT to remember who I am and what happened to me. It would make life easier for sure. 

 

It doesn’t take long until he seems satisfied with the belongings he has packed and levitates two trunks across the room. They land with a thud before our feet. He mumbles a spell and shrinks them into tiny versions of themselves, handing over mine on his outstretched hand. Dread spreads through me because this might be goodbye. I can’t imagine why he should feel responsible for checking up on me when he has delivered me to my friends. He has several times told me that the young witch and wizard are my friends but he never indicated what the nature of our relationship has been. His neutral reaction to my memory loss might be evidence that he simply had been my teacher when this still was a school. 

I want to ask him if he is going to visit me but I bite my lips. I know how needy it would sound and remember that he probably thinks that I have lost my marbles. Seems like I am a burden to those around me. I sigh and contemplate if there is any way of living on my own. Do I have any money to do that? Maybe I can find a job but then again who employs someone who doesn’t even know his own name? I don’t have a wand either which makes it virtually impossible to perform any magic. I could try wandless magic but something tells me that I have not been able to perform wandless magic before. 

„Harry,“ he looks at me with a serious expression and I look down to avoid his eyes. I know what's coming next. 

„I am sorry, I know how reluctant you have been to stay with your friends but I think it would be the most appropriate solution right now. I can assure you they are good people and love you very much.“ 

I close my eyes for a moment but nod slowly. I don’t want to make him feel like he has to look after me. I take a deep breath and decide to ask some more questions since I will be staying with these people from now on. 

„What's their names?“ I ask hesitantly, not knowing where to begin. 

An emotion flickers deep in his eyes before it disappears. Its gone so fast that I can’t decipher it. 

„Hermione and Ron,“ he answers. 

Hermione and Ron. I wait for recognition or familiarity but there is none. 

„We were friends?“ I continue, needing the reassurance. 

„You are best friends. The most annoying trio I have ever had the chance to encounter in my teaching career.“ He smiles a little, taking the harshness out of the words. 

This is my chance to ask something about him and I intend to take full advantage. Who knows when and if I‘ll be seeing him again. 

„You have been our teacher?“ I ask bluntly but he only nods as an answer. Great. 

„Have we been good friends as well?“ I hope the answer is yes. I remember his gentleness when tending to my wounds and his strong arms protecting me in a way that seemed natural like he has done this many times. 

To my surprise, I don’t get an answer at first. He just stands there, his eyes glaze over, clearly looking into the past. There is a harshness to his face almost as if he doesn’t like what he is seeing. 

„No, we haven’t.“ 

The blunt answer shocks me and my eyes widen. This makes no sense to me at all. 

„But…“ he interrupts me before I can question his statement. 

„Time to go. It's too dangerous to make idle small talk.“ 

He walks towards the fireplace and grabs the jar with floo powder. 

Idle small talk? I am getting a bit pissed off at his attitude. I don’t remember who I am, is it too much to ask to get some background information. I bit my lips to stop a growl from emerging. This is my life and he just ships me off to those strangers with no information about my past just expecting me to be complacent and follow everyone's orders. 

He beckons me closer with a gesture. I cast a dark look upon him but he doesn’t even react. 

He casts floo powder over my head, which makes me sneeze. Then he steps into the fireplace as well and shouts our destination. We land in the fireplace of a large living room. The room is empty and I look around curiously as we step out of the fireplace. I briefly glance over my shoulder back at him and can’t help to envy how flawless he looks while I am covered in ashes and look like something the cat dragged in. 

„Harry, you have something on your cheek,“ he points out, making me blush. I try to rub the spot he is pointing at but judging by his look I only make it worse. 

He steps closer and I expect him to draw his wand to perform a cleaning spell. Instead, he cradles my head and slowly rubs his fingertips over my cheek. We are so close that I can see the different shades of brown and black in his eyes. 

As soon as we hear footsteps approach he steps away and faces the door. 

I look around and register the haphazard mix of furniture in the big room, nothing seems to match. There is an abundance of different chairs. On the sofas are knitted blankets neatly placed over the armrests. They look a lot like the jumper Ron had been wearing when we met. 

I get interrupted by a woman opening the door with energetic force.

„Harry! Severus!“ She shouts and approaches us with open arms. Her words cause some commotion somewhere inside the house. Footsteps, a lot of footsteps approaching. I hear whispers, hushed conversations. 

Before I can react I find myself trapped in an embrace, her arms squeezing me to the point where it is hard to breathe. The panic starts deep in my stomach, turning my intestines to writhing snakes. I remind myself that the Professor thinks that this is the best place to stay and I trust him. When she lets me go and babbles something about my weight l try to reign in my raging emotions. 

But then the door gets wrenched open again and a lot of people enter the room. They are all more or less my age, almost everyone has red hair. The only ones I recognize are Hermione and Ron who have a big smile on their faces. There are so many people and all of them look like they are about to hug me. Everyone is babbling, but I can’t make out any words. There is ringing to my ears. The moment a younger girl is about to throw her arms around me I take a couple of steps back until I collide with the Professor who had at some point moved behind me. 

I spin around and hide my face on his broad shoulders. My heart beats so fast I feel dizzy. Even though I can’t see them anymore I can hear them. Someone with a bright voice is crying, someone is whispering agitated. I just want to get out of here. My body trembles, I can’t control the tears slowly dripping from my eyes.

„Please don’t leave me here, please don’t leave me here,“ I chant uncontrollably. I know that I am making a fool out of myself but I can’t help it. The thought of being left here frightens me. I don’t know these people. 

It feels like forever until his arms circle around me. His grip is tight again, almost bruising. 

„I am sorry, Molly. This was a mistake. We need to leave“, with that he apparates us out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

As the dizziness from the apparition slowly subsides my senses focus on the surroundings. I still have my eyes shut tightly but I can hear the soft whisper of wind caressing dry leaves. Birds sing in the distance and there is another sound accompanying their song. It takes me a few seconds until I figure out that I hear water nearby, it sounds like a river. 

I open my eyes and look up at the Professor who simultaneously looks down on me. Our eyes meet for a brief moment and I forget my curiosity regarding my surroundings momentarily, his dark gaze holds me captive. My own eyes itch from the tears cried at the Burrow. I can’t believe I actually begged him to not leave me there. I don’t want him to feel responsible for me but I am immensely grateful that he apparated us out of there. 

I know they all mean well but the forced intimacy of their hugs was too much to bear. I can’t remember any of them and yet they don’t seem to have realized that. They looked at me like their names only slipped my mind and I would remember them any second. If they only hugged me tight enough my memory would come back. I can partly understand their reasoning but it doesn’t make it less uncomfortable. 

The Professor breaks the connection between our eyes, straightens his back and clears his throat. He takes a few steps back and only then I realize that he had still his arms around me, holding me against his chest. 

“Mr. Potter, I am sorry in behalf of the Weasley family. They can be a bit overbearing at times. I know I have said this already, but they are good people who care for you. With that said, I do understand your reluctance to stay with people who so clearly disregard the seriousness and special circumstances of your condition,” he sighs and picks invisible lint from his sleeves. 

I look down on my shoes, realizing that I am still wearing my pj’s, a bathrobe and slippers. I must have looked like a mental patient, arriving at the Burrow clad like that, totally losing it and begging the Professor to get me out of there. My cheeks heat up and I cannot help but fidget with the hem of my bathrobe. 

“I am sorry,” I whisper, knowing that I have put the Professor in a difficult situation. 

He nods and turns around, walking in brisk strides towards the small cottage I failed to notice. The Professor has a way of holding my attention hostage. 

I look around and realize that we are standing in a small clearing, surrounded by trees with thick trunks and leaves in all shades of green. A light breeze moves them and makes the flowers in the small garden around the cottage sway. 

The house itself looks old but well kept. The Professor waves his wand in a complicated pattern before the door swings open, sounding like it is protesting against the sudden movement. He beckons me to come in and I step closer, letting my fingertips glide over the polished, dark wood the house is made of. I walk past a window with white curtains and a small vase filled with flowers. It looks welcoming and homely. The last light slowly fading reflects in the window, the sky is getting darker by the minute. 

When I pass the threshold the Professor closes the door behind me. The twilight inside the cottage makes it hard to see anything before he illuminates the room with a whispered “Lumos”. I walk into the center of the room, realizing that the cottage is quite small. I am standing next to a big sofa, again the same dark green color as in the Professor's private chambers. I wonder if it means anything to him or if it just is his favorite color. I put my hand on the velvety fabric and let my eyes follow his movements through the room. 

He lights a fire in the fireplace next to two armchairs before he continues walking towards the big four poster bed at the opposite side of the room. He sets a lot of magic activity in motion, a dust wipe appears and starts dusting the furniture. The linen on the bed is changing itself and a teakettle floats towards the sink to be filled with water before it places itself on the stove. 

He turns around, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he takes out the miniature trunk. Another wave of his wand and it grows back to full size. I am mesmerized by the effortlessness and elegance of his magic. He barely moves his lips and sometimes not even his wand. 

I bury my hands in my pocket, wondering where I will stay tonight. This place is clearly way too small to house us both, it's not like there is a guest room. There is not even a separate bedroom. Maybe it's time to ask if he knows anything about my financial situation. Hopefully, I will have enough money to rent a room somewhere. 

”Erm….,” I clear my throat that suddenly constricts around the words, ”do you know if I have enough money to rent a room for a couple of days? I don’t want to be a burden, you have already done so much for me.” I look down at my slippers, cheeks heated again. 

Silence follows my question and I wonder if the answer is no and he is just too nice to tell me. I don’t look up until a warm hand is placed on my shoulder. 

”Harry, money aside, do you really think that it is a good idea to live alone in a rented room given your condition?” He tilts his head and I try not to stare into his eyes. His hand feels warm and reassuring, I can’t help but lean into the touch a little bit. Of course, I don’t want to be alone but I don’t want him to feel obligated to take care of me. 

”I don’t know, but before we left Hogwarts you said that we weren’t friends and…,” I take a deep breath and pause for a moment, reliving the sadness upon hearing those words, ”I don’t want you to feel obligated to take care of me just because I freaked out at my friends house. I will be alright,” I force a smile on my face, trying to hide the fear and loneliness that lays underneath. He is the only ally I have right now, even if he does not consider us friends. But I don’t remember the past, the only thing I remember is gentle fingers taking care of my wounds, soft words spoken to reassure me and his calming presence. 

”Mr. Potter, I have to apologize for my harsh words before we left. It is true that we haven’t seen eye to eye regarding some things in the past. Our relationship….,” he pauses, thoughtfully biting his lower lip, ”has been complicated. Laced with many emotions, not all of them necessarily bad. The circumstances we lived under shaped much of our interactions; circumstances that have changed now.” 

I look at him curiously, wanting to ask a hundred questions about mysterious circumstances but I bite my tongue. Instead, I focus on the glimmer of hope hidden beneath his words. I step closer, finally meeting his eyes. I almost expect them to be unreadable but they aren’t, instead he looks at me with warmth. It is his eyes that give me the courage to cautiously reach out and take his hand. I can see I surprised him with this, his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his features resume a neutral expression. He seems to be really good at hiding his emotions underneath a calm surface, but if you look closely you can identify them, at least to some extent. 

”Do you think we might be able to become friends?” I ask him, holding on to his slender hand. His eyes darken for a second, but he nods slowly. 

”Maybe. But that is not the point. Despite our past, I don’t want you to live alone somewhere. The wound on your chest needs to heal properly and we need to figure out a way to access your memories. I know this cottage is small but you are welcome to share it with me until you get better or you decide you want to live at the Burrow.” 

”I would love to,” I reply with sadness clearly evident in my voice. Of course, I hoped for a more positive answer but he welcomed me into his home, which is something, I guess. I try not to let desperation invade me at the realization that the person I trust the most probably doesn’t even like me. I wonder what I have done in the past to earn his dislike. I swallow and try to hold back the tears that are welling up in my eyes. It is indeed very lonely when you don’t remember anything. I sniffle as silently as I can, not wanting to draw attention to my emotions. 

”Harry….,” he whispers, sounding uncertain. I don’t reply because I am ashamed of my reaction to his words. I am surprised by his arms suddenly embracing me in a very short but tight hug. Somehow, his body language sends different signals than his words about our relationship. This is confusing, but I rest my head against his shoulders anyway. Even if he doesn’t like it he has become my anchor in this unfamiliar world. Maybe I can make up for the things I have done wrong in the past by being a better person in the present. 

He lets go of me after mere seconds and points towards the round table situated next to the kitchen island with stove and sink. 

”How about some dinner? The house elves make sure that my kitchen is well stocked at any time in case I decide to spend the weekends here.” He walks towards the fridge, opens the door and peers inside. He hums thoughtfully before closing it again and opens a cupboard above the bench. 

”What about tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?” He asks, looking almost eager at the thought of dinner. Or maybe cooking, it is hard to tell. 

I nod and smile, standing awkwardly between the sofa and the kitchen area. I know he invited me to stay but I still feel like an intruder. I shuffle from one foot to the other, unsure if I should offer my help. 

”Why don’t you get sorted, put your belongings away? Maybe you want to get changed, the bathroom is the door on your left.” 

I feel like someone just threw ice water over my head. I really want to change and hate the fact that he looks flawless in his white button-down shirt and black dressing pants. But without a wand, I have no idea how to enlarge my trunk. I hate feeling this helpless. 

”Could you help me please,?” I stutter, embarrassed that I can’t do the easiest tasks by myself. 

”You need help getting changed?” He raises an eyebrow and I want to sink through the floor towards the core of the earth. 

”I ...no...I mean...the trunk….,” I can’t seem to get my brain to form a coherent sentence, the thoughts swirl through my head in a stormy tornado until he starts to chuckle. I gape at him as his chuckle turns into full-blown laughter, while he waves his wand and has the miniature trunk floating from my bathrobe pocket towards the floor. In a matter of seconds, the trunk is again full-sized and I focus my attention on opening it manually. I feel a bit weird for staring at him like that and am happy that this gives me something to do. 

I wonder if he thinks along the same lines because he doesn’t offer me magical help in unpacking my things. I take out stacks of shirts and put them into the wardrobe he points out next to the bed. Everything seems worn down and at least two sizes too big. I put a pair of sweatpants and a black shirt that seems closer to my actual size on the bed to change into as soon as I have unpacked. 

The things that look new are school supplies and school robes. I put my books into one of the book-shelves that aren’t cramped and overstuffed with parchments and books. I curiously read the titles of his collection- Ancient Potions and Healing Spells; 1001 herbs and their use; Dark Relics and forbidden magic.   
I raise an eyebrow, that last one seems a bit unusual, with an old, worn-down binding covered in foreign symbols. 

At last, I kneel next to the trunk to look at the small items and keepsakes that are left at the bottom. There is a single, red sock. I pick it up and frown, why do I keep a single sock that obviously lacks its companion? I look up and observe the Professor cutting tomatoes. His movements are fast and graceful, he smiles to himself as he reaches for the herbs on the counter next to him. I get the impression that he enjoys cooking, he looks content. He has put his hair up in a messy bun that softens his features. 

I refocus my attention on the sock in my hand and put it back, not really knowing why it is important to me. I pick up a frame, containing a picture of me together with Ron and Hermione. They stand next to me, hugging me while I present a golden snitch in my hand. I am dressed in a quidditch uniform in red and golden colors, matching their scarves. I look absolutely happy, grinning from one ear to the other. The snitch dances above my hand and Ron pats me on the back, looking proud. I touch their faces gently, all of a sudden feeling bad for not remembering them and being so put off by their friendliness. I put the frame back because the happiness it displays makes me sad, a deep longing to remember comes over me, something, anything. 

”What have I been like?” I blurt, causing the Potions Master to look over his shoulder in surprise, knife stopped in mid-air above a loaf of bread. 

”Excuse me,” he replies and seems a bit confused. 

”What have I been like? In the past I mean. I don’t remember anything, not my friends or what happened to me, not even what kind of person I am. I just want to know, something, anything about myself.” I know that I sound pleading now and his frown disappears and is replaced by a tender look. 

”Oh Harry….,” he pauses, ”you are brave and selfless. You put the safety of others above your own. But you are also reckless and have an annoying ability to get yourself in trouble.” He stops and looks like he regrets having said as much. 

”Thank you,” I whisper, and the haunted look disappears from his face. He nods and turns his attention back to the bread he was slicing. I close the trunk with a thud and stand up. I pick up my clothes and take them with me into the bathroom. 

Inside the bathroom, I wash my hands and look at the mirror for a long time. My hair looks positively wild, and I card through it with wet fingers just to make it worse. I have a scar on my forehead, I trace its outlines curiously. It looks like a lightning bolt and I wonder how I got that. So many questions and no answers. I wash my face and change into the clothes that I picked out. The shirt only hangs loosely on my upper body and reaches down all the way beyond my butt. The grey sweatpants fit at least and I sigh. I seem to have an awful taste in clothes. Or I just lack money. The thought makes my heart sink. Maybe that's why the Professor is so kind and lets me stay here because he knows I can’t afford my own accommodation? I really need to ask more questions. Now that it has become apparent that my memory won’t just pop back. 

When I enter the room the Professor stands next to the dining table and puts two bowls of soup on dark green table sets. I really have to ask about the colors. A pile of grilled cheese sandwiches is on a plate in the middle of the table. The aroma of tomatoes, herbs, and cheese is mouthwatering. He nods towards me and takes a seat at the table. I smile shyly, thankful for having somewhere to stay and a nice warm meal to look forward to. I really hope we can talk some more so that I can learn the most essential things about my life. 

”Please, take a seat, Mr. Potter. I hope you are hungry,” he says and smiles as if he knows I am ravenous. Maybe he can tell be look in my eyes, zeroed in on the delicious food he has put forth. 

My desire to ask a thousand questions fades in the background as I taste a soup so delicious in its simplicity I cannot help but moan around the spoon in my mouth. He quirks an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment on the fact that I devour two sandwiches in record time. He doesn’t match my pace but nibbles on a sandwich elegantly while eating his soup slowly. When my first hunger is stilled I remember that I want to ask him some questions. 

”I don't seem like my memory is going to return all of a sudden,” I begin, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. He inclines his head, showing me I have his attention but he doesn’t interrupt me. 

”Would you be so kind as to answer some of my questions? Just so that I can get by and navigate my life.” I look at him as he puts his spoon down and folds his hands, long fingers intertwined. 

”Of course, ask whatever you want. I will try to answer to the best of my ability. This is your life and you have a right to know.” The Professor sounds calm and collected but I can see another emotion in his eyes. Apprehension? 

”Where is my family? You always talk about my friends and the Weasleys but you never once mentioned my parents. They surely must be worried about me?” I ask bluntly one of the questions that have been bothering me. 

He closes his eyes for a brief moment and his expression changes, he looks like he is in pain or sad, maybe both. 

”They died when you were a baby. They did love you very much and their love will never leave you. Your friends are your family, have been since you entered Hogwarts at age 11,” he looks down on his plate. 

At least ten follow up questions burn on my tongue but I don’t ask them because of his expression. I don’t want to cause him any pain. I feel a deep sadness at the fact that I don’t have a family but the feeling is familiar, I know how to handle it. I guess because I have lived with that knowledge all my life even though I can’t remember it right now. 

I decide to break the tension by asking something easier.

”Is green your favorite color?” I tilt my head, suddenly immensely curious. 

”Excuse me, what?” He looks bewildered, a little bit like he thinks I have lost my mind. Again. Great. 

”I noticed that green was the dominant color in your chambers in Hogwarts, even here it is everywhere,” I clarify and suddenly remember the banner above his fireplace in Hogwarts. ”You had a banner as well, in green and black, with a snake? What does it mean?” 

”That’s because I am a Slytherin, had of House actually.” He looks like I should understand what he just said but to me, it sounds like he speaks Chinese. 

”Slytherin?” I repeat questioningly. What the heck is a Slytherin? 

”Oh….you don’t remember?” He asks and now it is my turn to look at him in bewilderment. Of course, I don’t, I lost my memory. I just shake my head, this conversation gets stranger by the second. 

Apparently, he reads the questions marks in my eyes and starts explaining. 

”I just expected you remember about the Houses at Hogwarts because you seem to remember other stuff you have learned there. About magic I mean.” He leans forward and studies me intensely. 

”You remember spells, am I right?” He asks when I do not answer right away. I nod, sure I remember magic, spells, and potions. It's just useless without my wand. 

”Yeah I do, but I can’t perform magic without my wand,” I state, taking another spoonful of soupy heaven. 

He folds his hands and puts the fingertips together in a thoughtful gesture. I tell him that I do not remember anything about Houses or Slytherins. Which earns me a lecture about the history of Hogwarts. By the end of it, I have finished my meal and my eyes begin to droop. I yawn and rub my eyes just as he ends his explanation. 

”So I am Gryffindor and you are Slytherin. Rival Houses. Seems kinda ridiculous,” I flex my shoulders and jawn again but don’t miss that he looks at me strangely again. 

”Ridiculous?” He asks, his voice turning a pitch higher at the end. 

”Yeah I mean, why would you judge people's character traits and then put them into Houses, making them compete against each other instead of working together and learning from one another? Seems counterproductive if you ask me. Plus what I gather from your explanation every House sounds like they possess good traits and worse ones. We are all individuals, after all, right?” I dry my mouth with a napkin. 

He looks at me in silence for a long while, a dark gaze resting on my face. I wonder what he is thinking. 

”Well, enough small talk for today. Let's get some rest, it is late already,” he says and stand abruptly, clearly trying to flee the conversation. Seems like I put my foot in. Oh well, but it’s not my fault the school rules sound like something from a cheesy young adult novel. 

He walks towards the bed, the dishes fly silently towards the sink where a sponge and checkered towel are ready to take care of them. But he halters in his steps, looking at the bed a long while. 

”Sleeping arrangements,” he mumbles and I almost feel the discomfort radiating from him. There is after all only one bed. 

”I am happy to take the sofa,” I chime in before he can say anything.


End file.
